Remnants of Myself
by biggerthanwhales
Summary: Forgetting Finn Hudson is easier this way, with Quinn's taste delicious, and heavy on her tongue. Companion piece to 'An Illusion', but can be read separately
1. Part I

_Author's note: This is companion piece to "An Illusion". Rachel's POV and a little continuation from where the previous installment left off, so it's recommended that you read that one first._

* * *

The applause is deafening. Her jaw's hurting from the smile she can't seem to get rid of.

It goes on for what feels like forever—a storm that will beautifully haunt Rachel for the rest of her life. Tonight marks the first of many openings that will surely make it to news stands the following day.

"Rachel Berry: London's Stunning Breakthrough in Decades"

It's not Broadway—yet. She'll make it there in time. Sometimes you need to get as far as possible from the destination to figure out the best routes. She'll go home, and the people who stepped her down will be on their knees, begging her to be part of their projects. She remembers each of their faces like a photo album grafted in her brain.

She'll go home and maybe Quinn will still be there waiting for her. Because she's still Rachel Fabray-Berry in her passport, in her driver's license, in every public government record, in everywhere.

And in the middle of her glory, she can't help but think about the message her wife's left for her on the answering machine.

* * *

There has to be a way to make a high school love affair work.

Rachel knows, she's sure of it, that there's some guaranteed pattern out there she needs to learn and share with Finn, because when she finally comes to the realization of what's right in front of their lives—

Well, it isn't exactly as easy as belting out a surprise performance of "Don't Rain On My Parade".

If anything, no amount of research gives Rachel enough assurance.

More than half of the couples from their neighborhood who had married their high school sweetheart are now divorced, and nearly broke from it. She knows some of them because her dads sometimes invite them for dinner. She's heard the end of their stories by the time she's finished with her salad.

At night she keeps looking at a picture of Finn, and her poster of the Big Apple, and they just don't fit together. To be honest, the closest he can ever get to is New Jersey.

The reality of it all tears Rachel's heart to pieces.

* * *

That is why, she agrees to marry Finn. It might be the only way she can take him with her. Finn will belong to New York like Rachel—because he's going to be permanently a part of her.

* * *

What she doesn't count on is Finn, surprisingly having a dream of his own.

What she doesn't count on, is that it's somewhere on the far opposite side of her own.

* * *

A single call cancels the wedding. Some other couple gets married at four in the afternoon. Rachel doesn't bother getting out of her wedding dress when she rushes to the hospital to see Quinn. She wears it while sitting idly inside the emergency room, guilt eating the life out of her.

Quinn would've been on her feet, unscathed and 100% alive if it weren't for the accident.

There'd be no accident, if there's no wedding to attend to.

There'd be no wedding, if only Rachel didn't want everything too much.

* * *

A part of her is relieved that she didn't got married to Finn Hudson at eighteen, barely out of high school and in a small chapel in Lima, Ohio. It makes her feel disgusted with her self, knowing that it's at the expense of Quinn, broken and unconscious on a hospital bed.

At exactly five minutes before midnight, a noisy red signal sets off to inform the hospital residents that trauma patient Lucy Quinn Fabray's heart, is no longer showing any sign of electrical activity. To every person who studies medicine, this is the most common definition of death.

* * *

"Hey..."

Quinn's voice, just a tad more hoarse than normal, but it's hers.

And in this moment, it's all that matters to Rachel more than the wedding band she still wears around her finger. Or the fact that she barely had anything in her stomach for a week now.

She refuses to look at Quinn, pretending to be asleep, until the blonde's fingers graze against her ear, and she finally turns her head to face the broken girl lying on this stiff bed.

"Quinn," She cries, and doesn't care about how unattractive she is when her nose's snotty and just a hundred times less desirable compared to Quinn's. "You were dead for a few minutes, when the doctors came to—"

Rachel's words break, as she feels the soft pad of Quinn's thumb wipe a steady stream of tears from her cheek.

"Please don't cry." It's hard to say if she's actually hearing the words and not imagining them.

When she meets half-lidded hazel eyes, she feels the ability to say no to Quinn slipping away.

* * *

Finn brings up their wedding a week after Quinn's been released from the hospital. He is hopeful and smiling and telling Rachel that maybe it was a sign from Jesus that they should wait for a better location, a better wedding cake and all their guests more approving of their union. They can even do it wherever Nationals will be held this year.

Rachel merely nods through it all, keeps on a tight smile that Finn won't ever find the need to question.

They could still marry a few years from now, perhaps when they are able to view the recent events in a comical manner at their annual high school reunion.

They could.

But Rachel's afraid she can never get over indirectly causing Lima's most devastating car crash of the year. Or the fact that Quinn was actually dead for exactly three minutes and twenty-two seconds.

* * *

For the first time, Rachel feels discomfort when Quinn catches her and Finn in the hallway, along with a sudden urge to shrug off his left arm resting languidly around Rachel shoulders.

It's Quinn first day back at McKinley, and Rachel doesn't know why she instantly withdraws her hand at the sight of the approaching blonde in a wheelchair. Her first thought is how Quinn manages sincere smile as if what happened a month ago is merely a distant nightmare that didn't leave her temporarily crippled.

When Finn asks her what's wrong, she pretends not to hear him.

* * *

"It's Quinn, isn't it? She told you to do this to me." Finn states, jaws clenched tightly.

"Finn, it's not—"

"She's always trying to ruin my life."

"—her."

Finn visibly recoils. Rachel continues before her mouth goes completely dry. "I know how much you were disappointed when the wedding didn't push through. It feels as if I've stomped on our promise, my and it...'"

Rachel sighs. "I know I've hurt you," Finn's silence, if anything, affirms it. "I just- I can't bear to do it anymore."

"So you're breaking up with me."

"I'm saying I can't marry you."

But all he's hearing are the words not being said.

Finn begs for one final kiss. Rachel's more than willing to give it to him.

* * *

It's the second lamp they knock down this afternoon. "Sorry". Finn mutters an empty apology as he pushes Rachel against the wall, securing her strong, tanned legs around his waist as he clumsily tries to set a rhythm that will bring them over the edge, and come for the second time around. They're fucking like rabbits in Rachel's bedroom, not even two days after their wobbly breakup. Finn unceremoniously showed up earlier with a bouquet of roses, smelling good and dashing in a red polo shirt. And as soon as Rachel informs him that her dads are out for a weekend getaway, clothes are soon being discarded.

She likes being in love, the thrill of urgent sex, the feeling of someone wanting her like this, of losing control. She doubts that Quinn's ever been in a relationship as intense as theirs. Or if she's knocked down lamps and not care at all. To put it simply, Rachel doesn't think the blonde's ever felt this way for anyone else.

Which is why, Quinn will never understand why she can't give this up even if she tries.

Rachel's mortified to realize she's having these thoughts while Finn is buried deep inside of her.

When they're done catching their breaths, Finn says, "I bet we can do this, Rach. It doesn't need to be this complicated. I promise to keep us together until we graduate out of college, I swear I'll be in the league in a few years and you're—"

"Okay."

"We'll still get married."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

* * *

Everyone finds out, no thanks to Kurt.

She can't bring herself to look at Quinn while she listens to every justification of why being with Finn can destroy everything she's ever hoped for.

Compromise doesn't exist in Finn's world, Rachel.

He may want you, but that doesn't mean he wants your dreams too.

She listens, but she's deaf to reason. Instead, she wonders why Quinn's putting all her energy to making Rachel's dreams come true for her.

* * *

Rachel has her suspicions.

But it's Quinn. So she might be wrong.

* * *

Still, whatever Quinn's motives were, Rachel can't shake the truth that Quinn is right.

* * *

She forgets about those suspicions as soon as she gets out of Ohio. Her focus is on Julliard now, and making a long-distance relationship work. Quinn's surprisingly supportive of her, visits her every weekend, and at some point Rachel feels as though her friend's finally come to respect her decisions. It's not like she's made the wrong ones anyway. She'll be on the fast track to Broadway in a year or two.

Quinn's the only high school friendship she's managed to maintain, and it becomes something Rachel's not quite used to. Not because it's Quinn—the former Cheerio whose favorite past time used to be throwing slushies at her face without even batting an eyelash— but the fact that she's more invested in this then Rachel.

From time to time, she still wonders when things took a 360-degree turn for them.

At what point did Quinn decide she wants to keep Rachel in her life? True, Yale isn't that far from Rachel's dorm, but still, she doesn't think a lot of people would be willing to consistently take more than two hours of travel time to meet someone from their past.

That, and Finn's quarterly visits helps Rachel survive freshman year.

* * *

She travels to New Haven for a change, and the smell of a delicious home-cooked meal welcomes Rachel, even before Quinn greets her at the door wearing an over-sized Yale shirt and pajamas.

Quinn takes her coat, and says "Stay there and don't move. Dinner will be ready in a few", before running back into a cloud of smoke.

"Don't you need help in the kitchen?"

"I'm serious, don't try to do the dishes or sweep the floor." Rachel smiles fondly, vaguely remembering the last time she heard that tone of Quinn's— laced with something that sounds like a death-sentence.

"Okay." Rachel concedes and instead, takes the rare opportunity to observe Quinn.

It's hard to believe that this Quinn is someone she knew way back in High School. She doesn't look like anything like the girl who went through a teen pregnancy, a divorce, an identity crisis that left her with permanent mark of some celebrity's face on the small of her back—

But this girl is mature, but passionate about life, books, and art.

If Rachel were to meet Quinn for the first time today, she won't think this person's gone through all of that.

* * *

Half way through sophomore year, intimacy becomes a problem for Finn.

At Rachel's suggestion, they try a hand at phone sex.

But you can't really call it that, when only half of the party finishes every time.

* * *

The first time she doesn't return Finn's call, she's at one of the most prestigious restaurant in Manhattan, celebrating their young charmed lives. She doesn't know half of the people in the group, but that's Rachel's life nowadays.

She knows everybody, even though she doesn't. Not really.

* * *

She never really expected New York to change her at the very least. But then again, things have happened in the past that weren't exactly included in her 5-year long plan.

By now Rachel has almost forgotten the need to share the details of her life. She's come to appreciate mystery.

(…and has recently discovered she enjoys leaving people wanting _more._)

Perhaps because nobody really pays attention to your personal life, your history, or your relationships. Life generally revolves around success and failure, business and money, career and lifestyle. Rachel's learned which ones belong to the foreground. And everything else, she basically keeps to herself.

So when Quinn asks her how she has been, there isn't really much to tell aside from how other people around her are doing so well.

* * *

She's drunk— the drunkest she's ever been in her entire life— when Finn calls, angry, and questioning her nightly activities with her so-called "friends" from Julliard.

He doesn't say it aloud, but Rachel knows when Finn's words turn into unwarranted accusations.

Their fights become more frequent. Quinn stays longer hours. Sometimes she spends the night, rocking the brunette back and forth until the tremors subside.

"You guys are going to be okay."

She can't believe that she's hearing this from Quinn, of all people.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

Quinn smiles, and seeing it, Rachel does feel a lot better. "That and because I believe in you, Rachel. You don't give up on things you love unless it's for something you love more. I learned that from you."

* * *

Finn flies in one Saturday.

He shows up unexpected at her doorstep, and it reminds Rachel of a much similar experience that led them to their most memorable sex, and the choice of staying together while being thousands of miles apart.

"God, I've missed you."

Her excitement stifles when Finn responds with a tight smile, followed by a long and heavy sigh.

It completely shatters, when he awkwardly says, "We need to talk."

* * *

"You just don't tell me things anymore, Rach. We talk, but we don't… you know, really talk."

"Finn, I'm trying here."

"I know, Rach. But I don't think it's enough."

* * *

"At least he has the decency to do it in person, babe."

Apparently, it's a New Yorker's way of comforting someone in a profound grief. Look at what you have, and then look for someone's who's gotten worse.

* * *

Rachel waits until Quinn's done with midterms before telling her. And then she packs her belongings as soon as Finn leaves, and buys a bus ticket to New Haven.

* * *

It's the way Quinn's looking at her, and the way she's not taking advantage of Rachel's drunken state.

She sees the hunger, the vivid primal want in Quinn's eyes that she hasn't seen in Finn's even after they haven't been together in months.

So she dares the blonde to tell the truth, to reveal everything Rachel already knows. When Quinn gives in, Rachel finally understands that no one else will ever be this devoted to her. And so she rewards Quinn with her wet tongue, lacing it against the blonde's, fingers running through a pale shade of yellow, and her heart—

It's not pounding the way she wants it to, but Quinn feels warm everywhere and it doesn't make Rachel feel so alone anymore.

Rachel hasn't felt so wanted like this for so long, she just misses it so badly sometimes.

* * *

At first, she just wants to prove that she'd been right about Quinn all along, but then, she also discovers that Quinn is exquisitely soft in a way Finn will never be as her mouth travels down the length of Quinn's torso. Everything's fuzzy, and uncertain. The trembling body beneath her is every bit surreal, and she allows herself to get lost in the feeling of Quinn.

Memories of her ex-boyfriend's grunts being replaced by breathy moans she never thought she'll have against her ear.

Quinn Fabray smells different—feminine and powerful.

Forgetting Finn Hudson is easier this way, with Quinn's taste delicious, and heavy on her tongue.


	2. Part II

**AN: **So this one grew into a three-shot. Thanks a lot for the reviews, the alerts and the favorites. They motivate me a great deal, especially when I get to read your insights. For those people who commented about how much their saddened by the story, I forgot to mention that ANGST is my choice of genre. I can't promise much when we reach the series' conclusion, but I assure you that there's some light at the end of this dark tunnel =)

* * *

There are moments when she considers the possibility of her entire life being nothing but a dream. Because you don't wake up hang –over and sore, next to your ex-boyfriend's ex-girlfriend, and barely two weeks after said ex-boyfriend dumped you. Because there's no way sixteen year-old Rachel Berry would ever see this happening in the future. Or at least, she'd never thought of having a blonde's pale, slender arm possessively clutching her bare waist; or the steady breathing of one Quinn Fabray against her neck, slightly tickling the little hairs at her nape.

None of this can actually be true, can it? Or maybe she's just bad at being twenty and on her own, which is why she's here, and got everything mixed up.

Yet her mind's lucid enough to recognize that the yellow bedroom walls doesn't belong to her, or that frat guy she fucked the night Finn left her for good. Her mind starts to wander towards the inevitable. She just had sex with Quinn Fabray, and while it's too early to consider what it means for her or their friendship, she can't help but recall the way Quinn looks at her, or tries not to be too forceful when she's right between the blonde's legs—

Fuck, it's impossible to think clearly in this bed. Rachel untangles herself from the warm body sleeping soundly, carefully lifting the blonde's lithe arm. She opens Quinn's drawer and borrows a Yale jersey that is significantly too large for her size, it hangs a little over three inches above her knee. The living room's a rumble of red plastic cups Quinn never seems to run out of.

Looking around, she notices a couple of photographs plastered messily on the wall. She barely recognizes the faces smiling back at her. All of a sudden, it dawns to Rachel that she doesn't really know who Quinn has become. What kind of friends does she have? Is she in any school organization? Where does she usually hang out?

Perhaps she'll ask Quinn when she wakes up.

Maybe it can alleviate the nagging feeling that somehow, Rachel's using her the way Finn did with her before. And she doesn't deny the truth that she allow it back then, the way Quinn's letting her do so now. But it figures that's just the way things work sometimes.

* * *

Their breakup before this one, Rachel's folding their photos together in half, listening to Bon Iver, while her dads make sure they won't run out of vegan ice cream in the house.

But so far, she's unexpectedly doing well, and trying to have a busy schedule is never a problem for Rachel. She lives up to the expectation that New York City never sleeps. So, she has tons of activities lined up every week— yoga classes she never has to pay for due to some privileged friends, boxing on Thursdays, rehearsals for a major project...

And then on weekends, she gets plenty of sex with Quinn Fabray.

She takes the blonde to breakfast afterwards, somewhere nearby, just along the street of her building. Rachel can't really tell whether she does it out of a desire to give, or cheap gratitude. To her relief, she easily forgets this dilemma, when Quinn chirps happily at the sight of buttered toast and bacon.

And for each moment with Quinn, Rachel pushes Finn further and further into some part of her mind she'll lock away forever.

* * *

"Do you think you'll ever forgive me?"

It takes a few seconds for Rachel to respond, striving to let her attention remain on her "Essentials of Music Theory" reading. "Forgive you for what?"

"For tormenting you for two years, calling you names, throwing every insult I could think of—" Quinn's sentence is cut off when Rachel closes her textbook soundly. Then she walks over to the bed, where Quinn is lying idly on her back, quietly staring at the ceiling.

Her eyes travel all over Quinn's body and she thinks, yes. In fact, she already has.

"I thought we're done with this a long time ago." Rachel responds solemnly.

Quinn gathers her in her arms, and they've been doing this for a while, that it's easy to let her self be engulfed in the blonde's embrace.

"Please answer the question." Quinn mumbles into her hair.

"There's nothing to forgive, Quinn." Rachel sighs, slightly pulling away from Quinn's touch, but the blonde tightens her grip.

"I'm sorry," Quinn says abruptly, sensing Rachel's discomposure on the topic at hand. "It's just hard for me to accept it sometimes. I don't understand why you can forgive me so easily when I can't even forgive myself."

"But it's not just that, is it?"

Quinn shakes her head and looks away. "Sometimes I wonder if some part of you blames me for what happened between you and—and him."

"Quinn, you didn't do anything…"

"Directly. But a few years back, if that accident didn't happen—"

Rachel squeezes her eyes shut at the memory. "Stop. Leave that part out. What are you trying to say with all of this?"

"I know you never got over that guilt. And it's an awful thing to carry around, Rach. I can't bear to think you're still trying to make up for what happened by being with me."

"Well…" Rachel flips on to her other side, facing Quinn. "First of all, you're not that bad to have around."

Quinn's finely-arched brows crease into a frown. "That isn't a very satisfying remark…"

Rachel laughs softly. "Second, you're not very good at being cute, so really, I'd feel bad if you don't have someone just because you have an ugly pout—"

Quinn pulls her into a searing kiss, drowning out her words effectively.

"—and you're really good at that." Then her shirt's being lifted over her head, and cold pale hands starts pulling down her shorts. Quinn's kisses are hard and wet. Rachel focuses on forgetting everything else, and concentrates every swipe of her friend's tongue against her aching clit.

And every time, this is how she punishes and forgives Quinn Fabray. Every time, this is how she deals with her guilt.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing with Q?" It's Santana, and it's been nearly two years since she had last spoken to anyone from the glee club who isn't Quinn.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Santana."

They're alone in the table. Quinn and Brittany have wandered off to find an ATM machine, because Quinn insists on paying for their dinner tonight. Over the course of time, she's met a lot of Santanas and she's learned to deal with them, to pull their strings with just the right amount of pressure.

"Don't play dumb with me, Berry. You might have Quinn fooled, but I see how you look at her, and it isn't anywhere as near as how you look at Finn during high school."

"It's been two years. You hardly know me."

"That's true. But some things never change, you know."

"Yes they do. Take human skin, for example. Whenever we wash our hands, we actually wash the dead cells off, so that it gets replaced by new cells."

"Oh fuck you, Berry. Don't get smart with me."

Rachel smiles thinly, making it a point to look at the former Cheerio directly in the eyes as she says, "Or maybe you're right because clearly, you're still a bitch and you can't seem to mind your own business."

"Q is my friend, therefore she's my business. I'm just looking out for her."

They're best friends, sort of. Hardly lovers, because she's yet to feel something click into place. "Quinn and I are involved." Rachel states plainly. It's the only one that feels true.

"Is that what they're calling it nowadays? 'Involved'?"

"You can ask Quinn if you want. I'm not answering anymore of your childish questions for your satisfaction."

A silent conflict hovers both of them—Santana, continuing her reprimands with a death glare, and Rachel, overthrowing the other girl with her jeering lack of interest on the matter.

"You guys are looking way too serious right now." Brittany appears behind Santana with Quinn following behind her.

"Rach, are you okay?" Quinn asks, moving to stand beside the brunette, bringing a hand to cup Rachel's neck, feeling her temperature.

Rachel nods. "Yeah, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather."

"You better tighten up that scarf around your neck, Berry, you don't want to catch a flu." Santana chimes in. Quinn casts a curious glance between the, wondering what just happened during the fifteen minutes they were gone.

"Can we go home?" Rachel says.

"Already?" Brittany chimes in, obviously disappointment.

"Yeah, Britt, I'm sorry." Rachel says, eyes not leaving Santana. Quinn considers Rachel's scant control over her tone of voice, mouthing, "What the fuck did you do?" to Santana when their partners aren't looking.

Rachel gets up, and wraps her arms around the dancer, and says, "It's nice seeing you, Britt. But I still hope you can do better next time."

Brittany gives her an odd look, but Rachel doesn't see it. Instead, she looks out for the flash of concern that graces Santana's features, right before throwing an arm around Quinn's waist and turns to leave.

* * *

A harmless-looking white envelope arrives in her mailbox one day. Rachel tears it open, and it's anything but harmless.

"Baby?" She hears Quinn whisper, staring at her with a worried expression as if she's bleeding to death or magically losing her nose. Most days, she wears Quinn's comfort like a warm, safety blanket. But it becomes too overwhelming to handle, and she feels her ears heating up—

"Jesus, Quinn, I'm fine!" She doesn't mean to yell. But Quinn flinches like she's been slapped hard right across her face, before nodding dejectedly and heading towards the bedroom without another word. Rachel doesn't run after her and she figures Quinn needs to get the hell away from her right now.

Because Finn Hudson is getting married, and Rachel's should be permitted to be angry, and not sorry for the remaining part of the day. Because Finn is still a poison, slowly working its way into her lungs and each minute, it's getting harder and harder to breathe. Because being separated from him was supposed to be a temporary thing, and at the back of Rachel's mind, she's always been assured that in the end it's still going to be the two of them. _Together._

It's much later— after she's certain that Quinn's asleep—when she sends her response, purposely missing to check plus one.

* * *

Avoiding Quinn is easier than catching a cold at this time of the year in New York. Rachel has every excuse under her belt, all of them having something to do with school or spending wanting to spend more time with her dads through Skype. Quinn keeps on a cheery attitude over the phone, over countless rejections.

It's not like she has a choice anyway.

Still, in an effort to maintain the status quo, Rachel finally asks Quinn to come over. They spend the night, and she cooks Quinn her favorite meal for dinner.

In the morning she has her bags packed by the door. Quinn emerges from Rachel's bedroom, hair unbelievably messy from last night. She groggily glances at Rachel, then at the suitcases, and then at Rachel again.

She waits for Quinn to wake up completely before jumping into a well practiced speech. "Listen, I won't be home for a few days…"

And as expected, Quinn is very understanding. She swallows every lie that comes with a charming smile and a sweet peck on the lips.

It's all Rachel can give Quinn anyway.

* * *

The next day, Rachel buys a ticket to California, even though she doesn't exactly know what she wants to happen when she gets there.

Finn Hudson is extremely handsome in a tuxedo, is the first thought that enters Rachel's mind. Her red-rimmed eyes, obscured by a thick dark shades.

Upon landing, Rachel's come up with a plan to talk to Finn, and maybe ask him why he sent that invitation. Why he can't just get married without letting her know. She's so inclined to the idea that maybe Finn's holding out until the last minute. Besides, he's known to change his mind when it's almost too late.

Except, Rachel wasn't expecting to see him look so different. He looks sharper, his shoulder are broader, and there's a glint in his eyes Rachel's never seen before.

Which is why she retreats to the background, and decides to watch the whole ceremony from a proper distance. But even now that all is said and done, all Rachel could think of right at the moment is that it should've been _her_. Maybe Finn's right all along that she is to blame for the downward spiral of their relationship and eventually, its bitter end.

* * *

Everyone in the plane tries not to notice, as she cries relentlessly throughout the flight back home.

* * *

The airport definitely looks a lot bigger than she remembers. Or maybe it's because she feels smaller and a lot more alone. Just ten minutes after she stepped into the arrival area, she sees a flash of short blonde hair— which she'd last seen more than two years ago.

Maybe it's because she just misses Quinn, or she's suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that she currently has no one else in her life, that makes her jump into the blonde's waiting arms and kiss her on the mouth. For several seconds there's just the hard press of plump limps against yearning ones, lithe arms clinging to a pale neck. One of Quinn's hand goes to her waist, while the other grabs on her thigh, and then she's being lifted a several inches from the ground. The kiss deepens with Quinn's tongue prying her mouth open, begging Rachel to let her in.

She has no choice but to succumb to her plea, and allows Quinn entrance. It's different from the kisses they've shared in the past. Because this one finally counts.

"I love you..." She can't say how much, or to what degree, but she knows it's true. Quinn's eyes light up in response, and with a shaky breath says,

"Thank you."

* * *

"You chopped your hair."

"Yeah."

"You missed it, huh?"

"I did. Brings back some of my favorite memories."

"Oh? Like what?"

Quinn recalls breezily, "Like graduation day. Watching you wearing a toga, which was way too large for your head. But you didn't care even if you had to push it back every few seconds. I've never seen you look so happy. I remember you giving that remarkable speech, there were tears in your voice that made more than half of the people bawl. I think I even saw Sue Sylvester reached for a box of tissue. You were that great."

Rachel nods like she remembers too, but no, much of her high school memories' starting to blur. Especially the ones with Finn Hudson in them.

"Rach?"

"Hmm?"

"I need to ask you something and—" Quinn swallows with difficulty. "And as much as it terrifies me, I just have to know."

Rachel has to put a hand on her arm to stop the blonde from shaking. "Okay."

"What are you doing with me?" Quinn voice slightly falters and Rachel's never seen her look so vulnerable. "I mean, what should I expect from this? Or am I even allowed to expect?"

"Earlier, I believe I said back something that bears the reason why we're here right now. Isn't that enough to—"

"You did. But we never really talked about it, so no, it's not enough. Come on, Rach, can you really define anything with only three words?"

"Of course I can." Rachel says complacently. "We are together. I'm with you. You're with me. See? I even came up with three sets of—"

"Rachel." Quinn looks on, and Rachel can't quite tell if it's the beginning of the end.

But after several seconds of nothing, Quinn only sighs and wraps her fingers around one of Rachel's wrists, pulling.

"Come here."

* * *

She waits for the day Quinn discovers how empty their kisses are, and how this relationship's built on needs and wants that never quite matched. She waits for the day Quinn won't appear at her doorstep, looking like the prettiest girl Rachel's ever met, smiling down at her adoringly.

But most of all, Rachel waits for Quinn to come to her when a lonely week ends because she doesn't feel so disconnected from herself when she's with Quinn.


	3. Part III

_morning always looked like you_

_and from my window the only view_

_is you walk away not looking_

_- all my trains / Robert Francis_

* * *

Walking up that platform is about as memorable as the day she first stepped into her dream school. Julliard—home of artists who will never be forgotten. And now Rachel Berry walks among these proud alumni, carrying a badge of excellence that won't ever be taken away from her. Hearing her name being announced almost truncates her slight disappointment of not having her fathers to share her accomplishment with. But she's been bargaining with life for as long as she can remember that if she's learned anything, then it's the reality that she can't have and want everything too much.

In her mind, she recites her own speech, while listening to someone else give them.

But at the least, there's one other person who has heard it before—

"Rach!"

It happens so fast, like a sandstorm in the middle of the desert. Rachel suddenly finds herself wrapped up in warmth, in sunlight and _Quinn, _and all of it makes her feel as light as air.

"Quinn, what are you doing here? I thought you still have your finals." Rachel says as soon as Quinn releases her back on the ground.

"Took them in advance," Quinn explains proudly. "You're too important to miss."

* * *

The thing is she forgot to include Quinn's name in the guest list. Rachel can't miss this party—rumor has it, that a handful of important Broadway figures are expected to make an appearance. More than anything, Rachel's ready to jump into that ocean and be caught.

It's just not clever to sacrifice all of that to be with Quinn.

* * *

It turns out to be considerably less formal than Rachel's assumed. Understandably, none of those important people came and by midnight, it's free flowing beer and the whole place is heaving with smoke and sweating bodies.

Rachel's nursing her fifth glass of Absolut, leaning against the bar for support.

"How come you didn't bring Quinn with you?" It's the umpteenth time she's gotten this question. Rachel tightens her fingers around the cool crystal to keep herself from hurling it at somebody's face. She shrugs it off and downs what remains of her drink.

Her skin tingles as she feels the music prodding her to go back to the dance floor. Rachel gives into its bidding and soon, she's closing her eyes, swaying to the beat, thrashing her head gorgeously in every direction. A pair of hands finds purchase of her hips, a hot breath ghosts against her ear.

And just for tonight—she tells to herself—she'll lean into it.

The hands abruptly spins her around, making her eyes snap open. In her haze, she thinks she sees an all too familiar face, standing 6-feet tall, looking at her with pure lust in his eyes.

"Finn?"

She blinks—_once_—and the image is gone.

* * *

In the morning, Rachel exhales in relief to find Quinn sleeping peacefully next to her.

* * *

Her mistake is bringing it up one night. Though it's not like she can be anyone but herself, and being Rachel Berry meant saying the wrong things at the wrong time. Her thought are always out there, bound to reach out to someone else's and Quinn always happens to be there. It happens that she always looks at Rachel with unerring want.

"Who do you see yourself marrying?" Rachel's voice cracks a little. God, she might already know the answer and maybe she's being utterly selfish for wanting to hear it, but what Rachel really needs right now is to have someone tell her—

"You, mostly."

_Mostly—_Quinn's way of telling Rachel she can have other options if Rachel wishes for her to.

Rachel merely wishes to give her back something.

* * *

There are two bottles of red wine resting on the bed, which is romantically furnished with hundreds of rose petals. Quinn came half an hour late to their court wedding, so she can't help but ask if this is what kept her so preoccupied. She didn't even thought of buying a gift for Quinn. Maybe tomorrow she'll think of something.

Hesitantly, she looks over her shoulder and sees her wife's face flushed, her hazel eyes set golden by the candle lights- and Rachel feels her knees go weak, because they've never done this before.

She hasn't done it with anyone in a long time. Make love.

Quinn's breath is warm as it skims along her bare shoulder, before lips descend delicately onto her flushed skin. Her head tilts involuntarily when an even warmer tongue replaces the soft kisses peppered generously on her neck. Fingers trace an invisible circle on her hip, while another set works the zipper of her dress, until they're impatiently pulling the garment above her head, and in a second, they're skin to skin.

And Rachel's still thinking that she's making love to Quinn for the first time, and not fucking her. It is unusual in a way that scares Rachel. She used sex to build walls around her, so as long as she can separate physical sensations from feelings— then she won't get hurt.

Not for the second time around.

It frightens her because she's not the one setting the pace this time. It's not her hands roughly, and hurriedly all over the planes of a body she once wished she had herself. She doesn't have control over the ripples of pleasure taking over her body. Tonight she's allowing Quinn to take her the way she wants to—and it's eager, but gentle. Slow, yet passionate. For a while she wonders how Quinn can be completely dominating and yet still be so vulnerable above her.

Her back arches. A deep moan escapes her lips at the brand new way Quinn's touching her. And when the blonde starts thrusting her hips, rubbing their wet centers together, she's unable to stop the tears from brimming. Quinn immediately stops her ministrations, asking if she did something wrong. Rachel can't bear to look at Quinn—Quinn who is now anxious to touch, to comfort and seeking a comfort of her own.

"Rach?" Quinn calls out, fear evident in her voice.

The sheets shuffle beside her, and she feels the warmth radiating from Quinn's hand as it hovers tentatively over her shoulder.

"D-Did I hurt you?"

Rachel shakes her head and rolls onto her side, retreating from Quinn, from the look on her face that screams desperation and worry and heartbreak.

It's difficult to explain, but right now Quinn's ridiculously breaking her heart too.

* * *

Pleading her way through every insignificant role off-off Broadway is a more than humiliating scenario Rachel attempts hard to keep hidden among people from her past.

And that, ironically, includes the woman she has recently married in court.

She leaves the function room in tears, but still holding her dignity together. It appears they happen in real life. Some offers do cross the boundaries, and Rachel can't seem to shake the temptation to give everything she has for an opportunity she very much deserves.

But what's holding her back is Quinn Fabray-Berry—more beautiful than ever, on the fast track to a successful career as a drama director, and earnestly faithful to Rachel.

* * *

So she begins putting together videos of her old performances, and sending them to various companies outside the country.

To Rachel's surprise, the response is immediate.

* * *

There is balance, because while chance is being cruel, Quinn is being the perfect wife.

She prepares Rachel vegan meals everyday (equally satisfying when compared to nearby restaurants), and calls her at least once a day (to say 'I love you'), and picks her up every night even though she works longer hours than the brunette.

It's easy to love Quinn, and maybe Rachel does, even it's far from the kind Quinn offers with an unbreakable smile.

It keeps holding her back from telling Quinn she has plans to leave for London.

* * *

"Flight 6138 to London, England please proceed to section 19A…"

She leaves Quinn with a side-hug. "Don't forget to drink your vitamins," is what she answers to her wife's unreadable expression before she proceeds to check-point area.

But at the last minute, Quinn calls out, "Rachel, please, I'll do anything."

There isn't much she can do, but curl her lips into a regretful smile.

* * *

Fans await her eagerly outside the theater. It's everything she's ever wanted—to be recognized for her talent and her efforts. To be followed like a star in a cold evening.

_Rachel!_ They scream. _Rachel Berry! _ On their lips, her name sounds like a deity.

_Will you please sign this? Can we take a picture? _They struggle desperately to catch up with her, but she's already being guided inside her limousine.

Later when the flashing lights are gone, when all she hears is the small _drip drip_ coming from the faucet, all she's left with is the noise of her own thoughts. It wails inside her head, as she strives to remember who she is, and what she always dreamed of being. It echoes Quinn Fabray's name, the woman she left behind in New York.

Rachel discovers that the love and adoration of people whose names she doesn't even know is forgettable, when there's no one at home waiting for her.

* * *

The tickets get sold out every night. A local TV station interviews her, wanting to know how and where she started, her future projects, her favorite color, if she sleeps on her back or if she likes pineapple in her pizza.

Yet bit by bit, the thrill seems to evaporate from Rachel's veins. She has accomplished enough to demand little things from the company, but ultimately she only asks for one thing.

Philip, her producer, isn't too happy about it. But the show's earned enough to go on a hiatus for three weeks.

"I worry about Quinn. I have to see her."

Philip nods, and it's both amusing and irritating how fast his admiration of her morphs into pity.

_Good luck with finding out if you still have a wife back home, Rachel _is whathis eyes seem to say, as he responds with, "I understand."

Rachel smiles gratefully. "See you soon, Phil."

"Rachel, will you let me give you an advice?"

"Sure."

"Stop feeling sorry for her. It's not going to solve anything. For all I know, you're just making both of your lives miserable. I don't see what's wrong with having to receive so much and giving little in return. Sometimes, that's just how relationships work, and you've got to accept it as it is."

* * *

The house is empty when Rachel walks inside, but the fact that Quinn hasn't changed the locks yet is a good enough welcome. What she notices immediately is the living room's been slightly altered- their black leather sofa's pressed up against the wall where the television is previously positioned.

Now, she doesn't see the 36-inch LED anywhere. Quinn must have transferred it to their bedroom, or pulled it out permanently. She doesn't watch often like Rachel anyway.

Rachel moves on to the kitchen, and her eyes immediately drop to the dirty sink, before they scans the whole section for more changes she should be aware of. A heavy weight settles on Rachel's chest, as the feeling of being out of place in her home slowly engulfs her.

But then, she reminds herself that Quinn might no longer even refer to this place as 'theirs'.

For the remainder of the night, she unpacks her belongings. Not all of it—she's not staying for long.

* * *

Rachel doesn't realize she's fallen asleep on the couch, until she wakens to a loud thud on the door, followed by the steel knob frantically twisting. For a while she's motionless, weighing the odds of a burglar breaking into her apartment on a Tuesday. She regrets glancing at the clock, confirming her suspicions that it's well past midnight and all of the people in the neighboring units are probably asleep if not home. Rachel comforts herself with the knowledge of having a police station just across the street, but her throat would probably be slit before she can even call for help.

"Where the fuck did you put your keys, Fabray?"

By now, the loud hammering of Rachel's heart should be frittering away but instead, it spikes up a notch at the awareness of Quinn, being behind that door.

And apparently, she's not alone.

The door swings opens to her wife— half-curled into a stranger, and the smell of cigarettes which seems to emanate from the blonde's body. She doesn't recall ever seeing Quinn drunk off her ass.

"Are you her roommate?" Rachel blinks at the question, and forces her gaze away from Quinn's messy appearance to acknowledge her companion. But she fails to look directly at his face when her eyes immediately notices his hand tightly clutching Quinn's waist to keep her upright.

"No, I'm her wife." Rachel answers distantly.

"Oh," The man hesitates for a moment, taken aback as if he's only discovering the information right that second, before untangling himself from Quinn and letting her gently slump against the wall. "You better take care of her then."

After a few failed attempts, Rachel manages hurl Quinn onto her back, taking small steps towards their bedroom.

"You're not sleeping in the same bed with me." Even in her intoxicated state, Quinn knows how to remain angry and distant.

"I- I don't intend to."

Quinn's eyes burn into her for a moment, as if hurt, before she passes out on their bed. Rachel removes her shoes, undresses Quinn with practiced ease, before pulling the covers over her shivering body. Rachel retrieves a basin of water from the bathroom, and starts gently washing Quinn's face gently with a wet cloth.

* * *

Being vegan for years, it still feels remarkably odd to her every time she fries bacon in her own kitchen. But of course she's married to Quinn, so it's sort of something she should be used to, but she's not.

The smell of cooking meat still makes her want to throw up.

"Leave it there. I can take care of my own breakfast." It makes Rachel actually jump, because she's been so keen to finish breakfast and shower before Quinn wakes up.

Rachel nods, and turns off the stove. Quinn waits for her to move a couple of distance away before resuming the work herself, idly rolling the strips side-to-side until they're crisp the way the blonde wants them.

Rachel doesn't know what she's waiting for when she remains unmoving in her position and trying to keep a steady breath. In the light of everything that has happened in the past few months, it's very conceivable for the other shoe to drop now, and for Quinn to tell her that their marriage is over.

But it never comes. Rachel has no clue on what to feel about it. Quinn informs her instead about Brittany and Santana, and it's just as bittersweet to Rachel's ears.

"They're getting married this Saturday."

At the mention of marriage, her mouth goes completely dry. "Oh."

"Brittany asked for you." Rachel can only imagine Santana's distaste.

"Okay."

And again, they fall into stillness thick with tension.

"Quinn, I'm—"

"Save it." Quinn interrupts sharply.

* * *

Brittany and Santana's wedding ceremony is by far, the best Rachel's ever been to. It's not the decorations, or Brittany's striking white gown (well, partly), or how it's achingly like her own dream wedding.

It's the atmosphere of two people coming together as one. Love, in its purest essence. In full circle. She has no special participation in the event unlike Quinn, who is standing beside Santana and looking absolutely exquisite in a red dress.

But she can't help but notice how much Quinn refuses to look at her.

* * *

Santana finally comes around after ignoring her for most part of the evening.

"Congra-"

"You were never good for her, Berry," Its venom comes more from the truth, rather than Santana herself. "And I don't know what sort of voodoo spell you did on her, but she loves you. She's not going to simply move on from you. So make a decision. It's either you want her, or you don't. It's that simple."

But it's not.

* * *

In the middle of the celebration, a young man approaches her for a dance. Rachel good-naturedly declines, lifting her hand to reveal the wedding band she's been wearing for two years now. He apologizes with a smile, commenting how lovely her ring is.

"It's only fair for me to assume you're not wearing it anymore." Once she meets Quinn's calculated gaze, Rachel's certain the blonde has seen everything.

"I suppose." Rachel mutters hesitantly.

"Get up." Quinn says, hoisting Rachel up to her feet and pulling them to join the pairs of guests swaying to the band's version of Johnny Mathis' "Chances Are".

It doesn't register quickly what they're about to do, until Quinn places both hands on her hip. In turn, she timidly places hers on Quinn's shoulders.

She watches Quinn for a short time, searching her brain for something to say.

"What?" Quinn mumbles cagily upon catching the subtle intrusions of Rachel's brown orbs.

"Nothing…"

Quinn nods. There had been a time she'd ask Rachel what's bothering her until Rachel yields or they end up in an argument. But now Quinn just steps back without hesitation.

"I... I suddenly realized that we've never done this before."

"Yeah," Quinn nods. "I've always wanted to though. I thought about it during senior prom, but I was stupid and too confident to get another chance on our—"

"Quinn."

"—on our wedding day."

"We didn't have a reception."

"Because it's what you wanted. We married by law, in a considerably old building in Manhattan. We had dinner in a poorly lit restaurant after the whole thing was done."

"You make it sound so cheap."

"Look, I'm just digging from memory here. If it hurts for you to hear it, then maybe it's because it's true."

When Rachel ducks her head and doesn't respond, Quinn just pulls her closer, murmuring, "Let's just dance, okay?"

Rachel presses her lips against the blonde's shoulder, leaning onto Quinn half-heartedly. She can see their newly-wed friends, holding each other intimately. For a moment she feels a pang of jealousy, wondering why some people just slid into each other so perfectly easy.

"Tell me, tell me honestly, why did you agree to all this? I gave you an out, Rachel. Even on the day of our legal bonding I asked you—twice—if you really want to be with me. You wore a black dress, for god's sake."

Frankly, she has no answer left in her. What Rachel are questions that she can't also seem to get rid off.

"Why did you? Why did you still choose me?"

Rachel's body quivers along with Quinn's unmeasured sobs.

* * *

They leave the reception as soon as Quinn's cries momentarily subside. Rachel's been holding back, but at the very second they reach the front door of their apartment, she lets herself go. They slide down the floor together, with more than enough distance between them, glancing at each other with unfamiliarity.

"I honestly don't know what upsets me more—getting left behind by you or being exactly like Finn Hudson." Quinn swallows hard, exhaustion visible in her voice and her hazel eyes void of warmth.

Quinn's appearance at this moment is possibly the worst sight Rachel's ever seen in her entire life. To think that she caused it is—

"Quinn…"

"I shouldn't have asked you to marry me." Quinn continues ruefully.

"You want to take it back?"

"I love you, but—" Quinn's face crumples.

But?

"But it's the right thing to do."

Rachel nods with finality, swiping a tear that has escaped down her cheek. "You're going to find someone who will…" She recites every detail of what she can't give to Quinn.

"Or I'm going to find that person for you." She adds quietly, her eyes daring to meet the watery depths of Quinn's eyes. And she's glad that she did, because Quinn Fabray's the strongest person she knows, and that meant she's not one to give up on something she wants with all her heart. Yet at the same time, it feels like she's looking into goodbye.

"We're going to be okay," Quinn tells her, but she doesn't promise. "I forgive you."

And with that, Rachel breaks down completely.

* * *

Rachel moves out of their apartment right after her show's final run. They're bringing it to Broadway, and she's still in the front lines, while some of the cast have been replaced by Broadway veterans. Her dreams are finally coming true.

She's happy, but not as happy as she always thought she'd be.

Quinn still opens her arms to her when they say goodbye, promising to keep in touch when they're ready.

* * *

Six months, and everything still feels new. Rachel still hasn't quite fit in her new home. She's still a stranger to person she sees when she looks in the mirror. But the rawness of it all is exactly what she needs. A ground start—where every thing does or doesn't do isn't a fruition of what went before. Above all, she's still figuring out how to be _ready_.

"Hello?" Rachel greets tentatively, having accepted the call of an unknown number.

"Yes, good morning. May I speak to Ms. Rachel Berry?"

It's a voice she'll recognize anywhere, in her sleep, when it's bouncing off telephone wires or right next to her ear.

"If you're trying to fool me, then I'm telling you as early as now that you've failed."

She hears a soft chuckle in return, causing a smile to work its way to her lips.

God, even listening to Quinn's breathing feels new.

"Not exactly. I'm trying to—I'm trying to be—"

After a minute of Quinn stammering and failing to find the right term, they burst into a fit of laughter. It quickly registers to both of them that in five years of being together, they've never been in such an awkward conversation.

"It's been a while." Quinn says quietly.

"It is."

"Listen uhm," Quinn clears her throat. "I was hoping if you'd like to get some breakfast with me—"

They still have a long way to go but—

But she misses Quinn, the girl who used to hate her with fervor, who became her friend, who loved her. Quinn— who became just a bit more than everything.

"Sure."

"—because I just heard about this new place that, uhm— wait, what?"

Rachel resists the urge to giggle. "I'd love to, Quinn. Meet you at GiftTree?"

"I'll be there in thirty."

* * *

"Gardenias. It means—"

"I know what it means." Rachel interrupts softly, beaming at the florist who just handed her a bouquet of Gardenias.

"You certainly know what you're doing. Usually my customers just take whatever looks grand but not much pricey. Most people don't see it, but the act of offering someone flowers is an art."

Rachel nods wistfully. "It is."

She thinks Quinn will love it. After all, it matches her eyes.

-End-

* * *

For those who commented on how much this story hurts, this passage speaks for me:

_"We must constantly give birth to our thoughts out of our pain, and nurture them with everything we have in us of blood, heart, fire, pleasure, passion, agony, conscience, fate, and catastrophe. Life to us — that means constantly transforming everything we are into light and flame, as well as everything that happens to us… ._"

— Friedrich Nietzsche.

Thank you very much for following this story. Until my next story :) -biggerthanwhales


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